Buried Secrets: The Freeman Files Series: Book 11 by Ted Tayler (that summer book TXT) 📕

so much more than the data they extracted from the photographs. Gus had encouraged her to stand in front of the whole team to take them through the details. Six months ago, that would have frightened her so much she wouldn’t have been able to speak.

Bob Duncan answered the front door as she was walking up the path from her car.

“Hello, Mr Duncan,”

“You’re back again,” said Bob. “How much more can there be to say.”

“Let the girl get inside the door, Bob,” said Elizabeth. “How are you, Blessing?”

“Very well, thanks, Mrs Duncan,” said Blessing. “I’m returning the originals of the photographs we borrowed. Shall I help Bob put them back into the frames?”

“Does that mean you’re staying long enough for a cup of tea?” asked Elizabeth.

“I don’t see why not,” smiled Blessing. Elizabeth headed for the kitchen.

“What did you learn from the photographs, anyway,” said Bob.

“We know the actual names of everyone that Alan recorded on the backs of the photos,” said Blessing. “I can let you have Alan’s pocket diary back too. We’re talking to several of his colleagues early next week, and we’re conscious of the fact that they’re unlikely to have learned that Alan died in 2008. I thought that if you wanted to call them over the weekend, it might soften the blow. They were good friends of Alan’s and thought a lot of him.”

“That’s a nice thought, Blessing,” said Elizabeth as she returned with three cups of tea on a tray.

“Gus Freeman would like to know what you remember of the missing photo, Mr Duncan,” said Blessing. “The one from Hong Kong taken at the Happy Valley racecourse.”

“Alan and the others wore those horrid shirts,” said Elizabeth, screwing up her face. “I think they had been drinking.”

“I must have looked at that photo a hundred times over the years,” said Bob. “Whether I can remember who was in it, I don’t know.”

“Alan was on the left,” said Elizabeth, “next to the man with ginger hair.”

“Taff,” said Blessing. “His name is Max Hughes, and he comes from Swansea.”

“We never knew that did we, Bob?” said Elizabeth, “He was just Taff to us.”

“If I show you the other photos, do you think you can remember seeing any of them in one of those horrid shirts?”

Bob and Elizabeth studied the photos, and Bob pointed at Keith Smith.

“He was there, Smudger. He was in most of Alan’s pictures.”

“Keith Smith,” said Blessing. “Well done, we’re almost there. Who were the other two?”

“This chap looks familiar,” said Elizabeth. She pointed at Craig Anderson.

“Yes, Andy,” said Bob. “That’s right; he was on the opposite end to Alan with his arm around the shoulder of…”

“Go on, Mr Duncan,” said Blessing.

“He’s not here,” said Bob, checking the photos.

“Are you sure?” asked Blessing.

Elizabeth flicked through the photographs. She shook her head.

“No, my memory isn’t what it was, but surely he was shorter, and carried more weight.”

“Fatter in the face and around the middle,” said Bob. “I remember that now, his shirt buttons were doing a grand job holding it together,”

Bob and Elizabeth laughed at the memory.

“Did Alan write names on the back of that photo?” asked Blessing.

“I can’t remember, I’m afraid,” said Bob.

“I remember when we got that photo,” said Elizabeth, “Alan sent it to us with my birthday card in August.”

“Which year was that?” asked Blessing.

“Perhaps two years before he came home for good,” said Elizabeth.

“August 2002 then,” said Blessing.

“Does it matter, dear?” said Elizabeth.

“It could do,” said Blessing. “You mentioned when Alan came home for good. Sometimes he came home to visit, I suppose, when his submarine returned to Faslane at other times?”

“Not often,” said Bob. “Alan rang us from Faslane to check that we were both well. He spent a weekend here every year, no more than that.”

“Was there a particular reason for that, Mr Duncan?” asked Blessing.

“Alan and his father didn’t always see eye to eye,” said Elizabeth.

“Alan kept telling us he was working on things that he couldn’t talk about,” said Bob. “I thought he had something to hide. I couldn’t work out what it was, but it bothered him. On those odd occasions when he slept here, especially in the last couple of years in the Navy, Alan was always on edge.”

“Did Alan learn any foreign languages?” asked Blessing.

“French and Spanish at school,” said Elizabeth, “but he dropped those subjects when he did his A-levels.”

“What about Russian?” asked Blessing.

“Why would he need that?” asked Elizabeth.

“Even though the Cold War was over, the Russians still pose a significant threat,” said Bob. “It’s possible Alan, and his crewmates picked up more than a few phrases. Everyone monitors everyone else when they’re patrolling, or carrying out manoeuvres under the oceans. That’s common knowledge, whether or not Alan spoke to us about what he did.”

“What about this photograph?” asked Blessing, showing the couple the photo taken in Moscow..

“What about it?” said Bob.

“Surely you know where Alan is?”

“I can’t say I do,” said Bob, “did Alan write on the back?”

“You’ve probably never seen it before, Bob,” said Elizabeth. “Alan kept several photos in a drawer in his bedroom. He left them behind when he moved out to live with Maddy. They couldn’t have been important.”

“That’s St Basil’s Cathedral in the background,” said Blessing.

“What, in Moscow?” said Bob.

“Yes,” said Blessing, “and this man took the photo.” She showed Bob and Elizabeth the photo of Yuri Kovalev. “Alan returned the favour at Moscow Zoo in the afternoon. Alan was in Moscow less than two months before he left the Navy.”

“I don’t recognise that chap as one of Alan’s crewmates,” said Bob.

“Yuri Kovalev wasn’t a crewmate,” said Blessing. “We don’t know what he does. Their meeting could be innocent. Kovalev was